


Secrets in the Smoke

by Bofur1



Series: Child's Play [6]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Brother-Sister Relationships, Dragons, Fluff and Mush, Gen, Kid Fic, Missing Teeth, Picture Books, Prompt Fill, Secret Passages, Smoking, Wizards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin first meets Gandalf the Grey when he's only a child, but the Wizard sees something in the young Prince that might be important in the future...something to do with Dragons. </p><p>(Fluff! with just a touch of Foreboding!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets in the Smoke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kili99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kili99/gifts).



> Prompt fill for kili99:
> 
> _"Young Thorin, Frerin, and Dís? They could be spying(as a game) on a visitor, who turns out to be Gandalf who is there to talk to Thrór, and it would be the first time that Thorin and Gandalf meet, OMG, it would be so cute!! when Gandalf interacts with children I just think it's so adorable, like the fireworks for the hobbit children :) Ooh, and there could be an epilogue, that wouldn't really be fluff, but I think it would be good: Gandalf is there to warn Thrór of what his huge hoard might attract, and is the first to see the early effects of the dragon-sickness...O.O" ___

“Who is it?” Frerin whispered. “What does he look like?”

“Don’t know,” Thorin breathed as he peered through the keyhole of his Grandfather’s council room door. “I’ve never seen him before. He’s got brownish gray hair and gray robes and a staff.”

Dís gasped. “Do you think he’ss Ithari?”

Frerin whirled to look sharply at her. “What?”

Dís sputtered, her missing front teeth making it hard to speak without a lisp. “Isss...Th’ Wizards! Ama told uss a sstory abouth them!”

“Istari,” Thorin gasped in awe. “Dís, you may be right!”

“Of courth I’m right,” Dís pouted. “You heard Ama thay that th’ Ithari wear white, gray, brown, or blue.”

“Then that’s the Gray Wizard!” Thorin exclaimed in a whisper. “What do you think his name is?”

“And what does he want with GabilAdad?” Frerin added.

“I don’t know,” Thorin said slowly. “But I’d love to find out.”

Frerin glanced up at his older brother and saw naughtiness playing at the corners of his lips. “What’re you thinking, Thor’?”

“I’m thinking we should listen to what they’re saying.”

“Th’ secret pathage?” Dís whispered.

Thorin nodded confirmation, gesturing for them to follow. Frerin and Dís trailed after their brother and soon found themselves at the hidden door of their passageway. Thorin moved aside the small stone statue covering the entrance and slipped inside. Dís went next and then Frerin, who moved the statue back so it covered the evidence of their disappearing.

Crawling on hands and knees through their child-sized tunnel, the young royals could hear voices echoing from the council room.

“...I am simply reminding you that Dragons have been seen in the further east and if they migrate this way—” That was the voice of the Wizard, calm and patient, almost like a parent quietly rebuking his child. Still, there was something in his undertone that fascinated Thorin beyond that—something that told him this was no dabbler in magic, but a true Higher Being. Why would he veil it with the tone of a scolding father? Thorin wondered.

“Your concerns are unfounded, Tharkûn,” Thrór interrupted. “By the end of this year half the gold with be in the hands of Dale’s merchants, anyway.”

Thorin turned to look over his shoulder at his siblings. “His name is Tharkûn!” he mouthed excitedly. “They’re talking about gold!”

“We have ears too,” Frerin complained. “Hush!”

“Thrór, please set aside your pride for one moment and listen to me. Something is fluctuating in this kingdom,” Tharkûn continued. “I see it in your son’s eyes. He knows it too. He is restless, uneasy—”

“I cannot control my son’s emotions,” Thrór announced sharply. “And, besides, he has cause to be uneasy. I have seen the slack he has given our system and I plan to confront him about it.”

“I do not believe the slack was given by Thráin,” Tharkûn disagreed quietly. The responding silence gave Thorin, Frerin, and Dís pause. Perhaps they should not be listening...

“You have made your opinion clear instead of speaking in riddles. I thank you for that,” Thrór said, his voice tight. “And now I thank you to leave.”

Hastily Thorin motioned for his siblings to move. They had to get out of the tunnel quick if they wanted to speak to the stranger!

Tharkûn emerged from the council room with an unhappy expression on his face. He withdrew a pipe to comfort his cares, but it was then that he noticed the trio of Dwarflings barring his way.

“Well, hello,” he greeted them. “Who might you be?”

“Thorin, son of Thráin, at your service,” Thorin announced proudly, bowing low.

“Frerin, son of Thráin, at your service,” Frerin added brightly, also bowing.

“Dís, daughter of Thráin, ath your thervice,” Dís declared, trying as hard as she could not to lisp as she bobbed a curtsey.

“Ah, the youngest royals of the family,” Tharkûn realized, kneeling at their height. “You three should know not to eavesdrop.”

Thorin’s eyes went wide. “How did you—?!”

“You’d be surprised how much I know.”

“Well,” Frerin sputtered indignantly. “We know a lot about _you_ too!”

“Is that so?”

“Yes!” Frerin nodded firmly. He elbowed Thorin and Dís, hissing, “You tell him!”

“We know you’re one of the Istari,” Thorin stated. “The Gray one. You came to warn GabilAdad about...something about Dale...and...”

Dís piped up, “And we know your name is Th...Th...” She blushed deeply, embarrassed. “Thru—”

“You may call me Mithrandir if you wish,” Tharkûn offered.

Dís wrinkled her nose in disgust. “That sounds too Elvish.”

“I see the Dwarven distaste for the Firstborns has already been passed to you,” the Wizard remarked lightly. “If you refuse ‘Mithrandir’, you can call me Gandalf.”

“Tharkûn, Mithrandir, Gandalf...you have so many names!” Thorin exclaimed.

“Too many,” Gandalf agreed wryly.

“Gandalf,” Frerin vied for the Wizard’s attention, gesturing to his long wooden pipe. “Can you blow smoke rings like our Adad does?”

Gandalf almost seemed indignant as he retorted, “Of course I can.” Leaning back on his heels, he snapped his fingers. All at once a spark burst from one of his fingertips! The three Dwarflings gasped in united astonishment as he touched the ember to the bowl of his pipe and lit its contents. Gandalf took a draw on his pipe and then exhaled slowly.

The smoke ring was bigger than Dís’s head as it floated like a bubble into the air. Thorin, Frerin, and Dís were quite delighted.

“Can you make a girl?” Dís asked eagerly.

An oddly devious smile lit Gandalf’s face. The next smoky shape that arrived looked like a young barefoot girl dancing.

“Who is that?” Frerin wanted to know.

“It’s a Hobbit lass,” Gandalf replied. “Have you ever heard of Hobbits?”

The trio shook their heads.

“Well, that’s a story for another time,” the Wizard decided. “I haven’t heard a request from you, Prince Thorin. What would you like to see?”

Thorin paused in thought and then stated seriously, “A dragon.”

Gandalf’s smile faltered for a split second. Then it was as bright as before and Thorin almost thought he had imagined a perturbed look on the Istari’s face.

“Very well.” Gandalf drew on his pipe measuredly. From his lips flew such a realistic dragon that Thorin nearly flinched as it entered the air. The dragon’s leathery wings were spread wide and his mouth was stretched open, revealing dangerous teeth bared at whatever prey it was stalking. It arced once around the Wizard’s head and then flew straight, dissolving mere inches before Thorin’s nose.

Frerin and Dís whooped and clapped, jumping up and down for sheer joy. Thorin stood there openmouthed. His eyes met Gandalf’s and his stomach lurched.

Gandalf extinguished his pipe abruptly and rose to his full height. “I must be off. I’ve many places to travel yet and I mean to arrive promptly.”

Frerin and Dís grabbed the Wizard’s robes as they skipped to keep pace with him, begging that he come again soon. Thorin trailed behind, trying to decipher the significant look Gandalf had given him.

When they’d met eyes, the Wizard seemed to consider him as though wondering if he were worthy to do something important, something that had to do with that mystical, smog-infused dragon.

Later, after Gandalf had left Erabor, Thorin visited the vast library and picked out a book of Dragons. He flipped through, studying the portraits. Thorin shivered at the image of Glaurung the Golden, father of Dragons. Scatha the Mighty Long-Wyrm was almost _worse_ to look upon. Ancalagon the Black, the first winged Fire-Drake, sent fear driving into Thorin’s heart. These pages he turned hastily, his only relief being that each page listed the date of their death.

The prince then came upon a different Dragon. This creature was arching his long, scaly back, spreading his wings like Gandalf’s smoke dragon had. Scarlet as the blood of Thorin’s own people, the Dragon stood out menacingly on the page. Though Thorin was terrified by the sight, he couldn’t force himself to turn away. His eyes fell to the words beneath the illustration.

 

 _Known Title:_ _Smaug the Magnificent_

_Race: Northern Fire-Drake_

_Known Date of Birth: Unknown_

_Known Date of Death:_

 

Thorin gaped at the blank space for a long moment, his heart pounding out a foreboding rhythm as he realized, _This one is still alive!_ Thorin’s gaze slid upwards, locking with Smaug’s. The Dragon’s eyes were pale and ghostly yellow, like twin moons of harvest. Smaug stared at Thorin down his long pointed snout, baring his razor-sharp teeth. Without warning Thorin gasped and slammed the book closed, leaping from his chair and running to his family quarters where it was safe.

As he huddled fearfully in bed that night, Thorin whispered to the darkness, “I know what I saw. I know what I saw...”

Thorin could swear that earlier, when he’d looked the picture in the eye, the Dragon’s malicious black lips had curved slightly upward.

Smaug had _smiled_. Right at him.


End file.
